Patchwork
by mute90
Summary: HP/SPN Breaking sequel Some things can’t be fixed…but you’ll never know until you try.


Title: Patchwork

Crossover: Supernatural, Harry Potter

Timeline: Post-DH of HP (disregards epilogue)

Disclaimer: Supernatural and Harry Potter are not mine in any way, shape, or form.

Summary: Some things can't be fixed…but you'll never know until you try.

* * *

Bobby thought he'd outgrown taking in two-legged strays. He did it once, with Caleb Reaves. That boy caused so much trouble that the local cops were chasing him out of town a month and a half after Bobby let him stay.

He did it once and decided he wasn't about to do it again.

'Course, he said that with his first hunt, his first hustle, hell, with his first Winchester. Figures he'd break his own rules.

"I got a spare room," he said, as he dumped their plates in the sink. "I'm getting enough work from in town that I ain't got the time to keep this place up. I can give you a room and food if you wanna' work here."

At first, he wasn't sure the boy would answer. He was looking at Old Maybelle again and Bobby was sure he was gonna' come out with another 'nice dog'. Instead, he nodded, "Okay."

Bobby turned back to the sink. That was -.

"Nice dog."

- better. Bobby massaged his temples. Shit.

XXX

The boy talked to the dog when Bobby wasn't in the room, a steady stream of words about this or that; 'it's a nice day' and 'I used to have a dog'. Bobby could hear him across the yard and through the thin walls.

"I used to fly when it was a nice day."

"His name was Snuffles."

"I can't fly anymore."

"He went away."

That was something Bobby heard a lot: went away. He went away. She went away. They went away.

Never coming back.

Bobby tried to ask him about it once. "What kind of dog did you have?" he said.

Harry froze.

A second later, he began to shovel food into his mouth so quickly Bobby thought he might choke.

"Harry."

If possible, the movement of his arm and that suddenly lethal spoon got even faster until Bobby shot forward and caught his wrist. Bobby could swear the kid wasn't even breathing after that. He definitely wasn't moving, all muscles perfectly still.

Bobby slowly let go. "You want something to drink?"

Harry looked at him. "Yes, please."

It seemed the kid didn't like questions 'cause Bobby didn't hear him through walls or across the yard anymore. He had to walk in on him to know he still talked to Old Maybelle and, even then, his head was bent toward hers so he could whisper secrets into her ear.

XXX

Sometimes, his eyes were so clear that Bobby was sure he could have a conversation about movies or sports or whatever you please. Other times, they were so clouded, Bobby thought he probably couldn't see past whatever pictures played out in his head.

Then, there were other times, the times he wanted to look away but just couldn't no matter how sad it got. It was when his body got real still and his eyes went empty. _Sorry, Singer, no one's home._

XXX

His eyes were clear when Bobby packed up his truck and said he had to take a trip for a few days. "Keep working. Watch the dogs. Eat."

The kid's forehead bunched up a bit. He nodded. He didn't say a word but he had clear eyes and Bobby was pretty sure he got it. He was even more sure when the boy followed him outside.

He stood on the porch as Bobby checked his weapons, hovering just on the edge of the stairs. Bobby got in the car, paused, and then leaned out the window. "I'll be back," he said.

He did come back…with shakes and shivers and a damn headache that wouldn't quit. Harry followed him around the house, always half visible whenever Bobby turned around. "I just hit my head," Bobby told him. "Go on." Five minutes would go by before the kid would be back.

It saved his life.

When the room spun, his stomach churned, and he realized that the damn witch had gotten her last shot in, there was a skinny frame that struggled under his weight but managed to get him to the couch.

There were wide green eyes watching as he rambled.

There were quick fingers that flicked through the pages of old, worn books about curses and poisons and a mind that understood.

"Bobby! Bobby, here. The book said this… Maybe it's this… Bobby, don't go away. You said you were coming back. You said so…"

XXX

Harry wasn't in the room when Bobby was finally able to move on his own again. He was sitting in the kitchen. Books were stacked on chairs and scattered across the table, books he'd stumbled upon before but Bobby had explained away as an occult fixation to a boy that didn't even look like he cared.

It sure looked like he cared now.

A book was open on his lap. Bobby could see the picture he was staring at; it was the grim.

"My dog looked like this," Harry said. "He looked like the grim. People were scared of him. He thought it was funny." A small smile made its way onto his face. "I thought so too. I had a big, scary dog we called Snuffles who used to chase his tail to make me laugh."

Bobby picked up the book and took a closer at the picture, trying to imagine it chasing its tail and looking up for the approval of a kid who smiled and laughed and _lived_. "What happened to him?"

"He went away. The – the _witch_ made him go away." Harry's head came up and Bobby reckoned he never saw his eyes that clear. "Are you going away, Bobby?"

The grim…the witch… Bobby nodded his head at the books. "You know what this means."

"Some of it," Harry said, simply. "_Are you going away_?"

"All those people you said went away; the witch made them go to?"

There was silence at the table. Bobby wondered if he broke the kid all over again but he was betting on not. He was betting those clear eyes meant the kid had long, ugly cracks running through every part of him but he was in one piece.

"No," Harry finally answered. "She made some of them go. There were others who made more people go. Some - ," Harry swallowed, "some just _wanted_ to go." Harry looked down at the book and then back up at Bobby. "Do – do you _want_ to go away, Bobby?"

Bobby shook his head because that bitch of a witch and her damn curse taught him something. He couldn't play with this kid's head, couldn't make promises he might not be able to keep. But this… "I don't _wanna_ go. Going to fight like hell not to."

Harry stared at him for a moment, bright green eyes seeming to look right through him. Unsure. There was something else there though. It was something that might have been life on someone else. On this kid, it sure looked like hope. "Good."

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